Violent Desires: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

  Table of Contents

  Prolog

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Prolog

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  VIOLENT DESIRES

  A Dark Billionaire Romance

  by

  Linnea May

  Content

  VIOLENT DESIRES

  Copyright

  Author’s note

  Prolog

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilog

  Also by Linnea May

  VIOLENT DELIGHTS

  Prolog

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  End of Preview

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  Copyright © 2017 by Linnea May

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Sign up to my mailing list and receive a free novel & a sexy short story.

  Author’s note

  This is the story of Ruby Red, the girl whose red coat gets stolen at the beginning of VIOLENT DELIGHTS, the first book in my Violent series. I’ve always wondered who she was and what became of her, after Liana inadvertently stepped in to steal her client.

  You don’t have to read both books in order to follow the plot, but if you’re like me, you might get a kick out of the connection between these two stories.

  I, for my part, had a ball writing them.

  „I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”

  – Sylvia Plath

  Prolog

  Ruby

  I shouldn't enjoy this.

  I shouldn't allow pleasure to persuade me to ignore the obvious danger I'm in.

  But I can't help it. I‘m dazed, my brain swimming in a pool of clouded bliss as I yield to him.

  My wrists are chained to the rack, my vision shrouded by a blindfold, and my core trembling from the aftermath of a staggering climax. I can feel his cum trickling down the inside of my thighs, and he’s still tightly gripping me by the hip. I moan anew when he digs his fingers roughly into my flesh, pulling me closer to him as his hardness parts my lips again.

  "No," I breathe out unsteadily, but my protest isn't sincere.

  "Yes," he objects.

  How can he still be this hard? He just came. We both did, peaking in joint rapture, our moans blending into a blissful symphony of carnal, violent need. He continued to ram into me with an urgency akin to rage. The spasms of my climax brought him over the edge within moments. Yet, here we are, still going, still fucking primally, as if there was no tomorrow.

  And maybe, for me, there won't be.

  I'm lost in a hazy and confusing mist of agony and thrill, clenching around him as if I was trying to stop him from leaving me. But he isn't going anywhere. He never will. He's here, with me, at all times, barely allowing me time and space to take a breath without his presence. He robbed me of my freedom, peeled away every layer of protection, exposing everything that I am and forcing me to face myself, my true self, the person I've always feared.

  And I may love him for that.

  But how can you love a man who kidnapped you? A man who seized you, leaving you bereft of everything you used to be?

  He forced himself on me, yet never took anything I didn’t freely give up. On the contrary, he was the one who made me wait, the one who tightened the reins and made me realize that I wasn't ready for the things I desired.

  We consume each other, feeding off each other's bodies and minds, neglecting the reality outside this room. A room that has been my prison for the past few weeks. I should despise it, but I don’t... I can't. I've lost too much here, but I've gained so much more.

  Tears of pain roll steadily down my cheeks when I realize he's drawing another climax from me.

  "No, no, no," I whimper desperately, trying to despise the warm throbbing that's spreading throughout my core, numbing my mind and elevating my body to inconceivable levels.

  I can't possibly come again. I can't.

  But I will.

  He leans forward then, dropping one hand from my hips to reach under my belly, surpassing my mound to caress the swollen spot right above my entrance.

  "Yes, my toy."

  His lips are brushing my ears, his hot breath trickling across my skin in rhythm with his pants in ecstacy.

  "Come."

  As soon as his command echoes in my ears, another rapture cripples my body.

  I shouldn't love this. I shouldn't love him. He's not who I thought he was.

  He's fucking dangerous.

  I know it now.

  I know there's been a horrible mistake.

  I know my life is in danger.

  And there's absolutely nothing I can do to escape.

  Nothing.

  Chapter 1

  Ruby

  Jealousy. I'm used to it.

  The way that girl is glaring at me, the way she grinds her teeth as she pins me down through narrowed eyes. I've seen it all before.

  She doesn't even turn away like most people would when I catch her staring. She hates me, and she doesn't care if I know it.

  We have never met before or exchanged a single word, but this woman across the bar already thinks she knows everything about me. She thinks she knows enough to hate me, despite the apparent similarities existing between us.

  We're both overdressed for this dumpy and shady neighborhood bar, and we’re both sitting by ourselves at opposite ends of the counter, surrounded by greasy characters who make no effort to hide that they are undressing us with their eyes. Her make-up isn't quite as extreme as mine, but she still stands out in her professional business suit with her shiny heels and well-coifed hairstyle.

  At first glance
, we could pass as twins, but we both know we're nothing alike.

  Unlike me, she doesn't radiate sex. She's missing the fake lashes, the fake tits, the fake presence that makes me irresistible to most men. And that's exactly why she hates me.

  I get it, I really do.

  To be honest, I didn't like myself all that much when I looked in the mirror this morning. These days, I'm nothing but a reflection of myself, a reflection of only a single side of me.

  A side that I can't come to terms with.

  The side of me that is Ruby Red, a high-class escort. A call girl.

  I'm paid to please men, filthy rich men, filthy kinky man. Men who not only possess the darkest and most unbridled desires, but also the wealth to pay generous amounts of money to fulfill each and every one of them. Very fucking generous amounts.

  I started this job out of desperation, but continued it to fulfill a deep-seated need. Not mere financial need. Actual need. Real need, like the need for air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat, all that is necessary to survive.

  I don't know when it happened, but there was a point when something changed. I changed.

  Something broke inside of me.

  And something else came to life.

  And I don't know which one of the two is the most real, because they feel equally dominant.

  All I know is that I need this. I need to feel like I’m a possession, a fuck toy. I need to be used, punished; I need to feel the pain, the be rewarded, and see the voracious look on their faces when they take me, knowing they can do almost anything to me without taking my feelings into account.

  That's what I signed up for, and my heart races with excitement every time I'm about to meet a new client. I could never openly admit it to anyone, but I love what I'm doing.

  But I hate it just as much, because I know that it's wrong to love this. No healthy person would love this lifestyle, no normal person, no sane person.

  Well, I guess I'm none of those.

  I take another sip of my cheap bourbon and notice the girl across the bar doing the same. It's starting to really fucking bother me that she's still glaring at me. I wish I had the guts to just go over there and tell her off, tell her my story, tell her that she should take a careful look in the mirror before judging others.

  But would she even understand what I’m trying to tell her? She's already formed her opinion of me. All she sees is a dumb blonde, with fake lashes, fake nails, fake tits, fake everything, lips painted a bright hooker red that matches my fur coat. I slip off the red fur coat. It’s neither stylish or classy, but I feel naked without it. It’s part of my identity, my signature, and it keeps me protected against the chill of those who judge me, like that cold girl sitting across fromm me.

  Now the mask, it’s something different. The black fabric lying on the counter in front of me should be covering my face. It’s what the client requested because he doesn't want to see my face before he grabs me.

  I'm waiting for that to happen.

  I'm waiting to be kidnapped.

  It has to seem as real as possible.

  I knew this new client was special from the get-go, and not only because of his specific demands and the amount of money he was willing to pay. I actually heard about him before he knew about me, completely by accident. I overheard our Madame, Miss Barry confiding in another girl that she was looking for someone who was willing to completely turn herself over to a client for thirty-nine days, to be kidnapped, locked up, and stripped of any rights or a way to negate the contract once she agreed to do it.

  I was intrigued. Very intrigued.

  I've done a lot of objectionable stuff. I've sold myself to men who tied me up for hours, forcing spellbinding orgasm after orgasm out of me, or denying me the same as a punishment. I've served, pleased, submitted to the darkest desires - but I've always wanted more. With each new client, I hoped for something deeper, so strong and powerful that it could destroy me. I need the challenge. I want to be scared, to be at someone's mercy. I want to give myself, all of myself, to a man without knowing what will eventually happen. I want to know what it feels like to surrender completely.

  And what better way to discover this than in a safe setting protected by the agency’s agreement with its clients? This setup is perfect. It seems so close to the real thing, but without the danger of it really, truly being real.

  But when I asked Miss Barry to share my file with the client, she rejected me.

  "He doesn’t want a redhead, he wants a blonde."

  My heart sank. My bright red hair has always been my big selling point. So many men nearly go out of their mind when faced with landing a true redhead. We are rare and special, and we have a reputation for being fiery and hard to tame.

  And he won't even consider me because of my hair color?

  Fuck that.

  I dyed my hair without thinking twice, and when I showed up at the agency, parading my new do in front of Miss Barry, she laughed, but agreed to include my file with the others.

  And that was that.

  He picked me. I signed a contract for him to kidnap me as the first step in the agreement to become his for thirty-nine days, no matter what. The instructions were specific and strict for the kidnapping: I must cover my face with a black mask every time I leave the house, which I’m obligated to do during the same couple-hour time frame every single day over the next week to give him time to learn my routine. The kidnapping is to appear as real as possible - for both him and me. I know he's been watching me the past few days, and he's going to grab me very soon, but I don’t know exactly when.

  The window is closing. Five days, the contract said. Today is day four.

  I've been a nervous wreck since the countdown began, not sure when, where, or how I will be snatched away. I've followed the rules, spending the allotted time outside every single day, but never a minute longer than agreed upon in the contract. He's not allowed to break into my home, but that didn't stop me from laying awake at night, my heart pounding senseless in my chest with fear and anticipation. I haven't slept properly in days, I can barely eat, and I’ve started drinking more to ease my nerves.

  This isn’t my part of town, exactly the reason why I picked this questionable drinking hole to spend my evening. I toss back one cheap bourbon after another, until I start feeling relaxed, calmed down enough to head back outside, too numb to drive myself crazy from the fear of being grabbed. I've always been a night owl, so it's not unusual for me to be out and about late at night. I’d be far more scared if I was nabbed during the bright daylight, as crazy as that may sound.

  It’s nearly midnight. The buzz of the alcohol fuzzes my senses as I slip off the bar stool to pay a quick visit to the restroom before heading out into the night. I intentionally ignore the frosty-faced girl still sitting across the bar, but I can feel her eyes on me as I head towards the short hallway leading to the restroom. If she continues with those hateful stares when I come back, I may just have to tell her off for my own self-esteem.

  My legs are shaky and my head feels like it‘s spinning. Steadying myself against the counter as I wash my hands, I study my reflection in the mirror. I still look good, good enough. I will never get used to the bleached blond strands framing my painted face, but the color will fade soon enough.

  "Thirty-nine days," I whisper to my reflection. The girl looking back at me in the mirror is strong, determined - and scared shitless. I don't regret my decision. Yet. And once he takes me, there will be no time for regret.

  Just a few more hours. The anticipation is the worst part, the uneasy feeling about what's to come, the uncertainty of it all...

  I take in a deep breath, and holding my head high, my posture straight, I stride out of the restroom.

  The first thing I notice is that the judgmental woman is gone.

  And so is my red fur coat.

  Chapter 2

  Loran

  I'm going too far this time.

  I know I shouldn't want what I want, I k
now I shouldn't think what I think. I know I shouldn't act on this vile idea.

  And I know that I shouldn't follow her.

  She caught my eye a few days ago, inadvertently leading me on a hunt that I didn’t foresee.

  But that woman. She left me no choice.

  I want her. I want all of her all to myself.

  I've never seen a woman execute the streets like she did these past few days. Her face is always covered by a black mask, only her eyes and lips evident. Those luscious lips, they’re always painted a bright red that matches the weirdly extravagant fur coat she always wears. She stands out in so many ways: that mask, the coat, the fuck-me heels, and the sinfully short skirt that peeks out seductively from under the hem of her coat. She radiates sex, and I wouldn't be surprised to find out that she's a call girl, a high-class escort. A unique one, though.

  Who walks the streets looking like that? And how come I've never seen her with anyone? She's always alone, hastily scurrying the streets, throwing backwards glances as if she knew she was being followed. It's a miracle she hasn‘t noticed me, considering I've been on her heels for three days.

  I didn't plan this, not really. I've toyed with the idea for a while, yes, and I knew I would do it eventually. The urge has been growing stronger and stronger over the past few months.

  The compulsion to kidnap a woman and truly make her mine, only mine. The urge to prove my family right, to become the criminal they always believed me to be.

  I've done some pretty loathsome things to women. I‘ve broken hearts left and right, skin but never bones, wills, and even crushed one‘s entire personality, identity. I've hurt them both physically and emotionally, never once caring what happened to them once they were gone. Some of them were happy to be freed, but then others were fucked up enough to hang on shamelessly to my legs when I pushed them away. Some were paid to spend time with me, while others were not. My wealth allows me the luxury to make and break the rules, and I was able to pick the best of the best, one beautiful, brave woman after another.

  But there’s one thing money can’t buy: the real thing. No matter how good they act, or how pretty they are, no amount of money can make it real. Truly taking a woman against her will can’t be faked, no matter how hard you try. It could be said that I’m lowering myself to the lowest level of scum, but I believe the opposite. I feel liberated, flying on an endorphin high, one I haven’t experienced in a long time.